


The Handler

by cthulhu_is_chaotic_good



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, Alex Rider - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Mission Fic, Snark, Yassen Gregorovich is definitely Alex Rider’s babysitter, Yassen can only handle so much teen spy in one life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28099416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthulhu_is_chaotic_good/pseuds/cthulhu_is_chaotic_good
Summary: Although Yassen had never worked as an agent for an intelligence service, he had general expectations.His expectations included that such agencies generally provided their undercover operatives with handlers to help them out of situations that had gone wrong.The reality that rapidly became clear to Yassen was that MI6 had not seen fit to provide Alex with that assistance.As Yassen was beginning to tell himself constantly, he wasn’t the boy’s caretaker. At the same time, if MI6 wasn’t keeping Alex alive, who else would?
Comments: 57
Kudos: 229





	1. Parts I, II, and III

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a one-night bedtime story on Discord. But my brain had other plans. Here are the first three parts (more to follow) of The Handler. The story title is from the ever wonderful Lil Lupin.

Part I

Yassen was almost out of the building, explosives ready to go off the moment he started the detonation sequence through the remote he was holding, when the noise caught his attention.

At first, he ignored it. The building was old; there would be noises. If the noises had been from another direction, they could have been from one of the men he’d shot making some last desperate attempt to call for help with their dying breath. Or it could have been, if Yassen made such mistakes as leaving witnesses even partially alive.

And then the repetitive banging began again - weak, muffled by at least a few walls, but present. And Yassen was not incurious enough to ignore finding out what his previous adversary had trapped in his lair.

Yassen wasn’t sure how he managed to be surprised.

Of course, Alex Rider would end up here. It was one of many places the boy shouldn’t be, so he had to appear.

What surprised Yassen more than finding Alex, bound and tied to a pipe in the wall, however, was the thick and drying trail of blood streaking down the child’s neck.

The gag in Alex’s mouth prevented him from saying anything. But the immediate reaction that crossed the boy’s face - widening eyes, frowning as much as the gag would allow - said that Alex hadn’t expected to see Yassen here either.

Yassen undid the gag from around Alex’s head, and it was apparent at once where the blood down the boy’s neck had come from. Something sharp had more than scratched the back of Alex’s head, and a portion of his blond hair was matted with blood.

“I was hoping for someone helpful,” Alex muttered as soon as the gag was dropped to the floor. The implication being Yassen wasn’t the candidate he had in mind.

Luck didn’t always come in the form expected, in Yassen’s experience. He tilted his head, and said, “Let’s say I’m feeling generous.”

He didn’t ask if Alex wanted help, even from him. Alex may still say no.

And it didn’t really matter what Alex wanted. Yassen was going to help, this time, because the alternative was leaving the young spy to die in the havoc that Yassen would unleash soon.

Yassen wasn’t yet that cruel.

He used his pocketknife to cut through the bonds holding Alex in place. “Follow me,” Yassen instructed as he stood and turned for the door. He was halfway across the room before noticing that that Alex wasn’t following.

Across the room, Alex was standing with a pained expression on his face. His hand was raised to his head, gingerly touching a matted clump of hair near his head wound.

“This way.” Now was not the time for lingering around to survey the potential head damage. Now was the time to leave while inflicting damage.

“Sorry,” Alex muttered. He took a hesitant step, and it was immediately clear that the blood loss and head wound the boy had suffered weren’t ornamental.

The walk out of the building was far slower than Yassen would prefer, with Alex leaning against and holding his arm for stability. It was also, objectively, not a slow walk. Alex had been on enough missions to understand urgency, even if he didn’t, at this exact moment, understand what that urgency was for.

Although Alex may have been urgent for his own reasons. Yassen had found the child tied to a pipe in a building that the owner had known would be demolished soon.

Yassen wished, by the end of their walk to the car, that he had parked closer to the building. Still, the advantage of parking far away from a demolition site was that the site could safely be demolished once they were at the car.

Yassen keyed in the activation sequence, while Alex slumped against the headrest of the passenger seat. (The rental agency would be none too pleased by the traces of blood left on the seat, Yassen was sure).

Alex’s eyes flew open when the explosion began. Pale, the boy watched the explosion as Yassen started the car.

“Oh,” Alex said, softly.

“You’re welcome,” Yassen replied, grateful that at least the day hadn’t begun by inadvertently killing Hunter’s only child.

The drive down the winding forest road was quiet enough, although Alex occasionally winced when the car would hit a bump and Alex’s head banged against the headrest.

“Where is your handler?” Yassen asked as he brought them onto the highway.

“Who’s that?” Alex asked.

“The person in charge of your mission,” Yassen responded, impatient at the fact that Alex had been working for MI6 for a year and didn’t yet know the terminology. “The person who can then take you to a hospital.”

Alex didn’t respond for a minute.

“Could you just drop me off at a hospital?” Alex asked, after the minute had passed. “I can figure things out from there.”

If there was anything Yassen knew about America, it was that attempting to figure out the insurance alone would hurt Alex’s head more than the actual head wound.

“I’m not going to harm them,” Yassen promised, which was more than he would usually be willing to promise regarding an intelligence agent. “I told you I would help.”

Alex’s silence was telling. Of what, however, Yassen didn’t know.

Yassen kept driving, in the direction of the nearest hospital he knew of. If Alex wouldn’t tell Yassen where to find his handler, Yassen would leave Alex for his handler to pick up.

“I can call the CIA,” Yassen said as they neared the exit for the hospital. “Tell them about the foreign agent running around on their soil.” That was assuming they didn’t already know. Alex’s reaction to the threat would reveal that information.

“Don’t.”

“Or what?” Alex, despite his luck and skill, and despite Yassen’s what-could-be-called-fondness for the boy, had nothing to hold as leverage. Yassen could, and would, make threats if it got the name of his handler out of the boy.

Alex only shook his head. “I don’t want problems. Thanks for the ride, but I’ll be alright. Just leave me at the hospital.”

“I will leave you when your handler is around to ensure you rest.”

In the corner of Yassen’s eye, Alex grimaced.

“Having met you,” Yassen expanded, “it would be reckless to leave you alone, when you might decide your mission wasn’t yet finished.”

Alex sighed. It wasn’t a disagreement. “I can’t help you with a handler,” he admitted. “I don’t think I have one.”

For the second time that day, Yassen wasn’t sure why he was surprised.

It made sense, with what Yassen knew. The whole messy affair with Cray, no one had believed the boy. No one had helped him. And no one had been there to stop Sayle from taking Alex the day after it had all occurred, that first time they had met, in London.

Yassen wasn’t, despite his occupation, necessarily a violent man. Violence was a necessary part of the job. It was a job he did well. It wasn’t something he needed to enjoy.

If he was a more violent man, Yassen would be willing to add a few acts of precisely targeted violence to his resume, should he meet an agent from MI6 soon. Enough to send a message, and leave at least one of MI6’s apparently not-so-precious agents as a reminder of Yassen’s displeasure with the organization.

Alex wouldn’t want that. And Yassen, despite himself, cared enough about what Alex thought that he allowed the passing thought of retribution to leave his head.

“What do you normally do when you need help?”

“Hope I don’t die.” Alex said it without hesitation, as if that were how MI6 agents were supposed to be treated.

As if it was how adult agents were treated.

“On the bright side, usually someone turns up to help.”

Yassen frowned at that. “I’m not sure hoping that I will turn up and like you enough to leave you alive is a plan that will help you live a long life.”

He was sure. It wasn’t.

“It worked this time.” Alex replied after a moment.

Yes. With luck, this time the plan had worked.

If Yassen had been in slightly more of a rush to get on his way...

“If I leave you at the hospital, what will happen?” Yassen asked, abruptly changing tract from the direction his mind was taking him in.

“I’ll get ahold of my bosses. I have a phone number.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Maybe they’ll give me a bonus if I claim I blew up the building myself.”

Yassen pulled them up to the emergency room drop off point minutes later.

“Thanks for the ride.”

Yassen watched as Alex got out of the car. He needed to be going.

Alex closed the car door, and started towards the hospital entrance. He was walking better than before, but still slower than Yassen would expect from a teenager.

Yassen needed to be elsewhere by tonight.

He decided his next course.

He would need to find a parking space.

\---

“They really shouldn’t let just anyone into patient’s rooms,” Alex said, when Yassen entered the small examination room he had been told to wait in.

The advantage of the incredibly rural hospital Alex had been dropped at was the lack of a wait to get into a room.

“I’m your cousin,” Yassen replied.

Alex frowned. “You expect me to memorize a cover right now? I have a head injury, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Yassen didn’t smile, but Alex was willing to bet the man was amused. “I’ve met you. Let’s say I believe in your abilities.”

Sure he did.

“Well, it’s good you’re here.” Not that Alex knew why Yassen was still here, but he would complain later. And only if the assassin did anything particularly egregious. “They want an adult. For reasons I don’t understand, and health forms.”

It hadn’t taken even a minute for Alex to learn that America did not, as it happened, have universal health care.

“Are you paying me back, with your bonus from blowing up the building?” Yassen inquired.

“Sure, I’ll pay you back my entire bonus on top of my salary,” Alex agreed. For a grand total of zero pounds, but that was a small detail.

According to the doctor, the injury wasn’t as bad as it seemed. After three very painful stitches, it was on its way to recovery, so long as Alex rested and avoided further head trauma.

Alex wondered if MI6 would listen to that advice.

The doctor had then, after ensuring his injury was treated to, asked Alex questions. A lot of questions. About where the injury had occurred, what had occurred, and, mainly, why Alex had waited until the blood completely dried before coming to the emergency room.

At that last question, the doctor even stared, pointedly, at Yassen.

Yassen had stared back, completely unreadable.

Eventually, Alex had broken their staring contest by asking the doctor whether he could play football - Alex had even remembered to call it soccer - in the next few weeks.

The doctor’s despair over the question left it clear that no, football would not be a choice for the immediate future.

Yassen was acting nicer than Alex remembered from previous missions. Perhaps it was the natural consequence of not waking a hired killer up by pointing their own gun at their head, or trying to ruin their terrible bosses’ plans. (Not that Alex was going to claim to be in the wrong for any of those incidents. And the anger at all the terrible things Yassen did for a living was still there. But there was the feeling that, now that Alex knew more about the man, he could see that they had enough in common to maybe not hate each other.)

Yassen even paid for the doctor’s visit when it was done.

“I should probably call MI6, huh,” Alex mused, after he’d taken soap and a clean shirt from Yassen’s bag and washed away the blood from his hair and neck in the hospital bathroom. Yassen’s shirt was almost not too large, another sign of Alex’s recent growth spurt.

“Yes, tell them that once again you have taken care of your job and the job of your handler.” The dark undercurrent of Yassen’s tone was masked, but it was there.

Alex shrugged. “You were probably as close to a handler as I’m going to get, if I’m understanding what a handler does correctly.” He offered a half smile. “Thanks.”

Yassen didn’t return the smile. “It’s not my job to rescue you.”

What did the man want Alex to say to that? No, it wasn’t his job, but the assassin had done it!

“Sorry to be such an inconvenience,” Alex retorted.

Yassen frowned. His next words seemed measured. “You are not an inconvenience. Your employment is inconvenient, both for my recent employment history and for your own survival.” Yassen paused only a moment, as if he suspected his words would not be taken well. “You should stop working for them.”

There wasn’t a need to stop and think, after that.

“No,” Alex said. Because it wasn’t that easy, and there were lives at risk - always - and he could help, and because, as Mrs. Jones had told him recently, he was addicted to danger. “No. And you can’t make me.”

“I rather think I could,” Yassen replied, in a low voice. And Alex felt the shiver that went down his spine whenever the madman of the day threatened him.

“You’re not going to, though.” Despite the fear, Alex was nearly confident that he was correct. Yassen hadn’t just rescued him and brought him to a hospital only to turn around and grievously injure him.

Cold blue eyes gazed back at him for a moment. “No. I’m not.”

Alex smirked, but it wasn’t a victory. More of a hollow “I told you so” where neither party won.

“You should call MI6,” Yassen said. “They’ll pick you up.”

“Alright,” Alex agreed. There wasn’t much more to say, he thought, not if Yassen wanted to turn this into a grand “abandon MI6 all ye who talk with me” speech.

And Yassen had already tried to turn Alex from MI6 once. That hadn’t ended well either.

“Alright,” Yassen echoed. He looked at Alex, again impossible to read, and shook his head. “I’ll be around, if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“Then I suppose I will be around to help you when MI6 leaves you in the hands of people like me,” Yassen responded.

Alex didn’t have a clever retort to that. MI6 had left him in the hands of villains, after all, so many times.

“Take a vacation at least. It’s what the doctor ordered.” With those final words, Yassen left.

Part II

Yassen was beginning to lose count of how often he’d saved the young spy’s life at this point.

And maybe technically Alex might argue that Yassen not having his men shoot him didn’t count as saving his life.

Yassen disagreed.

“Hold fire,” he said, clearly, into the walkie as he looked down the street at the familiar blond boy running his way.

His men didn’t fire, but they also didn’t lower their weapons. By the time Alex had skidded to a stop in front of Yassen, at least five firearms were loosely aimed in his direction.

“Hi,” Alex gasped out between ragged breaths.

Yassen, bemused, ordered his men to focus on holding their position. When one of his men - a young German named Charles - didn’t understand that his words meant _stop aiming at the boy_ , Yassen fixed him with an icy stare.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Alex said. His breathing was starting to even out.

“You didn’t expect to see me in in Turkey, or you didn’t expect to see me at the end of this street?”

Alex shrugged. “Bit of both, really.”

It had been at least a year since they’d run into each other in America. Alex looked slightly older, taller, and at least a little as if he’d recently run a long marathon through a bag of dust.

“Your people were chasing me. I really hoped you could tell them to stop.”

And indeed, at the end of the end, two men had appeared. They saw Yassen and his men, all armed, and stopped.

“No.”

Alex frowned. “You can’t tell them to stop?”

“I doubt they’d listen, as they aren’t my men.”

Alex looked over his shoulder to see his two pursuers halted mid-chase.

“Oh. Well then, other people were chasing me. And I hoped you’d tell them to stop.” Alex smiled, cheekily. “It looks like it worked.”

“For the moment,” Yassen agreed. He put his hand on Alex’s shoulder, and tightened his grip, enough to be a warning. “Would you care to tell me why those men are chasing you? And why it seems rather as if you’re running away from the embassy that my people have an interest in?”

Alex’s smile faded slightly. “In fairness, a lot of people have an interest in that embassy.” He, seemingly for the first time, noticed the armed men standing around Yassen. “But I don’t know anything about that. I don’t even watch the news.”

Yassen raised an eyebrow at his second in command. “Hold him.” He pushed Alex none-too-gently towards the man. Then he looked towards the two men standing at the end of the street, and waved them over.

The two men, nervously, stepped forward. By now they were no doubts aware of the snipers on the rooftops and the armed men with Yassen himself by the truck.

“You really don’t need to talk to them,” Alex said. His tone sounded calm and almost cheerful, but it was wrong. Faked.

The child had a reason to be worried.

“Really,” Alex said, as the men approached. “I’m good. Thanks for the help, appreciate it, but I’d like to be going now. My, uh, my friend will be wondering where I am.”

Only a poor spy would bring a friend into such a contested city. “No, I don’t think so,” Yassen replied. He meant about the friend, but if Alex understood his remark as ‘no, you aren’t going now’, that would also be correct.

Alex frowned. “My handler then. They gave me one of them now, you know.”

“How kind of them.”

If Yassen’s men were untrained, Alex’s scheme to free himself and jump behind the truck to run would take them by surprise.

His men were not untrained.

“Alex,” Yassen warned, “If you try what you are planning, you will still be here in five minutes, but your wrist will be broken. And I’m not taking you to a hospital this time.” That remark earned Yassen a glower, but it was true. Alex was sixteen, and apparently now had someone to watch him on his missions.

Good. Yassen wasn’t the boy’s caretaker.

When the approaching men reached spitting distance of the truck, Yassen held up a hand for them to stop.

His exchange with the men, in Turkish, was enlightening. Alex’s furrowed brow indicated the boy was hoping it wouldn’t be.

Requested information received, Yassen dismissed the men. They walked away with an alarming speed.

Alex was the only one who flinched when they were shot through the back immediately before they could duck into the alley they’d emerged from.

“Put him in the truck,” Yassen ordered. “There’s no excuse for him to escape.”

Alex was swiftly bundled into the back of the truck by Yassen’s second. He could be dealt with later. After the ambassador’s men were run into this road off the main (cleared) path from the embassy, Yassen would talk with the little spy who had somehow managed to steal the information that half a dozen countries were now desperately vying over.

The ambassador’s men were run into the road not much later, and, seeing the ambush that awaited them, immediately surrendered.

Yassen left his men to hold the ambassador’s personnel there, as he got into the truck with his second and Alex and began the drive towards the rendezvous point where they would be meeting the ambassador’s wife.

There were many people around the world with unpleasant marriages, from what Yassen had seen in his lifetime. Not all unhappy marriages were as destructive as this one.

A small nation’s ambassador to Turkey had defected to a third country not three days ago, leaving his wife of 32 years behind in a city that was little more than an active war zone, which even the Turkish military didn’t claim to fully hold. In return, she had attempted to sell high ranking information that her husband had gained access to, through creating a system of bids where representatives of numerous countries could compete. It was information on Turkish tactical plans for the fighting in the region, and the ambassador’s wife should never have been close to touching it. But now she had a copy, and it was Yassen’s job to retrieve the information before it ended up in the wrong hands, a phrase which here meant ‘other hands.’

The other team working for Yassen had gone to the embassy to destroy any duplicate copies of the information stored there.

Obviously, if what the men had told Yassen was true, the other team had failed. Yassen had taken note of their failure. The boy should never have gotten into the embassy, let been able to retrieve a copy of the plans.

The survival of the small cafe where they were meeting belied the state of the city. After parking in the street, Yassen ran a critical eye over the tables poking half outside the cafe’s roof. Few people were seated at the tables. None looked to pose a threat, although several had knives or pistols. So long as Alex - and the ambassador’s wife – cooperated, then the handoff would be smooth. Then Yassen would be left with two copies of the information, and one foreign spy.

Yassen put an arm on the headrest of the passenger seat, and twisted around to face Alex. “We’re going inside. You’re going to sit there - quietly - and cause no problems.” T _here will be problems elsewise_ remained unstated.

“Ok,” Alex agreed, far too fast to be genuine. “Can I order a Coke? I’m parched. Watching people get killed does that.”

Yassen’s second in command slapped Alex around the back of the head. “Quiet,” he instructed. Alex blinked in shock more than in pain. When the boy looked at him, almost offended, Yassen struggled to not roll his eyes.

“Quiet,” he agreed, getting out of the truck. “It won’t hurt you to keep your mouth closed for a while.”

They took a seat at a table against the wall of the restaurant. When the waitress took their order, Yassen ordered coffee. Alex glared at Yassen’s second. Then, in faltering Turkish, he asked for a Coke.

When the ambassador’s wife arrived, flanked by a tall and obviously armed guard - although, in this city, anyone who wasn’t obviously armed was at least subtly so - Alex showed no signs of recognition. That was one relief. Yassen didn’t need the trouble that came from people knowing each other.

“The embassy is being cleared now, without your husband’s men in the way,” Yassen said in lieu of a greeting, as she sat down.

Alex’s eyes narrowed, at that.

Yassen was distracted from figuring out what Alex knew by the sounds of horns beeping suddenly in the background. The sound alone wasn’t unusual, in a city such as this. What was more unusual was the silence that followed.

Occasionally Yassen would, often in times when it was least expected, sense that danger was near.

There should be no reason to suspect danger now. Everything - save the detail of Alex - had been sorted. The wife had no reason to cause problems. Her husband was gone.

"Someone knows we are here," Yassen said, calm. He stood, slowly, so the man with the ambassador's wife wouldn't be alarmed. Then Yassen grabbed Alex and shoved him to the ground.

Alex, shocked, had no time to fight back. Yassen drew his gun and stood against the wall while the woman he had come here to meet and her guard starting to run away.

The shooting started moments later, as the truck of armed men arrived on their section of the street.

Like most moments of violence and bloodshed, it finished quickly. The men who'd ambushed them began to drive away after bodies littered the road and café, Yassen's second and the ambassador's wife included. And then a man in the bed of the truck that was driving away held up a section of pipe.

"Alex, run, now," Yassen ordered, reaching down to pull Alex off the ground.

They were barely out of the café, Alex stumbling over his feet, when the bomb exploded.

Yassen lost Alex in the explosion. The blast had knocked him off his feet, and Yassen's head rang. Blinking, Yassen glanced back. He should never have allowed Alex to fall behind him.

Alex wasn't in a bad condition. Just, worse.

Bloody yet shallow cuts on the boy’s hands and a scrape on his forehead were the main outward signs of injury. But Alex almost certainly had a concussion, even if physically he looked unimpaired. His pupils were large and he was, from what Yassen could see, just slightly off kilter.

“Get up,” Yassen commanded, even though he could barely hear himself while the ringing in his head faded. He pulled Alex up and began to walk them away from the site of the devastation. There was no point in staying here.

Down the street, only a cat dared wander freely about. Everyone else who had been going about their day in the city street had fled when the truck of armed men appeared.

Behind them, the devastation would probably be noisy. But by the time Yassen could properly hear again, they were a few streets away.

Yassen wasn’t sure that he didn’t feel guilty about taking the boy with him. He wasn’t guilty, because Alex was alive and in a safe enough condition that no emergency room was needed. But dragging the boy along when his main goal was still to repossess Alex’s intel could have come with less guilt if Alex wasn’t clinging to his sleeve for balance.

“This only happens when you’re nearby,” Alex mumbled, in his first words after the explosion. “I was nearly blown-up last time. I got hurt on the plane. There was a fucking bull in France.”

Yassen almost smiled. “This only happens when _I’m_ nearby?”

He put an arm around Alex’s shoulders to balance the boy. Yassen could get them to a safe place within thirty minutes, and could have the intel from Alex in thirty-five, if there was a rush.

There wasn’t a rush. Even if there had been, this didn’t require force. Alex would give up whatever he had - a drive, a disk, or a phone, most likely - easily enough. Not unless MI6 had put Alex through RTI courses. Not for the physical torture, but the mental resistance.

Maybe now that Alex had a handler, MI6 was finally taking the boy’s health seriously.

Speaking of handlers, Alex’s would need to know his charge was still alive.

Yassen stopped in the alley, and leaned Alex up against a wall. “Where’s your handler?”

“What?” Alex responded, dazed.

“How do I contact him? Is there a number I can call? An address to drop you at, after this all is done?”

Alex was silent just a moment too long. He fixed his unfocused eyes on the stone ground of the alley they’d stopped in.

“You should learn to lie better, if you want to be a spy,” Yassen said, after a moment.

“Fooled you, though,” Alex muttered.

“You fooled someone who wanted to believe you.” His tone was cooler than Alex deserved, possibly, but Yassen wasn’t pleased. Years of experience meant that Yassen was the fool to have fallen for such a simple lie.

Brown eyes peered at him cautiously, pupils far too overblown for the middle of the day. Alex needed rest, and, with this new information processed, it was clear there was no one to make sure he got it.

“What was your exit plan? A phone number? You were being chased by men who wanted to kill you.”

“Run into someone who liked me enough to not kill me.”

“No, that was not your plan. Your plan was to hope for luck.”

Alex defended himself. “It worked! Mostly.”

“Mostly,” Yassen agreed darkly, thinking of what they still had ahead of them. Alex wouldn’t be happy to return the information he’d stolen. Injured and threatened, Alex would also not be able to stop Yassen from taking the plans. MI6 were bigger fools than Yassen had been to send Alex here, alone, and think he could defend what he’d acquired for them.

Alex was quiet the rest of the way. By the time Yassen had gotten them to the compound his men were based out of, the boy was walking by himself, his dizziness seemingly gone.

“Sad for a fortress of evil,” Alex mumbled as they were let in.

Yassen led the boy to the empty kitchen. “Sit down.”

Alex sat down at the small table in the corner of the room. “Is it snack time already?”

“No.” Yassen’s attention wandered to the cooking knifes. He didn’t go for them, but he spent enough time pretending to consider the option that Alex could easily see it was a possibility.

“Bit rude, hurting someone you rescued.”

Despite the many ways in which it was clear that Alex was only sixteen, he was still impressive. If the boy was scared, he didn’t sound it. If anything, he sounded only slightly winded from the walk they’d taken while he was not in the best condition.

“It would be rude.” Yassen glanced at Alex. He willed the spy to understand that it was also not an option Yassen was rejecting, should the boy turn uncooperative.

Alex folded his arms. “I don’t know what you think, but I don’t have anything helpful on me.”

“The plans could be hidden somewhere else, it’s true.” Although Yassen doubted it. “But it doesn’t matter where the plans are, little Alex. Because you don’t have a handler keeping you safe, and your safe passage out of this country depends on me.”

“Sounds like you’re a bit full of yourself. Anyone could help me leave the country.”

“Not when they can’t find you.”

“Why couldn’t they find me? I activated my tracker beacon ages ago.”

It was a clever and bold lie.

Yassen said as much.

Alex held out his left wrist to show a beaten and dusty watch wrapped around it.

Yassen reached out to take hold of the watch. Alex moved to draw back his wrist, but Yassen held his wrist in place and undid the watch. He pried the back off.

Inside the case, a device that might well be a tracker was hidden.

“You don’t even have a handler. Why should I worry about this?”

“I don’t have a handler. I do have backup.” Alex grimaced. “The guy’s annoying, but he probably wants me back alive and unhurt.”

Was it only one agent then? The compound security could deal with that threat.

“He has others with him,” Alex said. “If you were wondering.”

That was annoying. Yassen had no desire to deal with a team of English spies. Alex was nuisance enough on his own.

“And I don’t have the plans on me,” Alex admitted. “You can check. I really don’t. I’m not idiotic enough to carry a flash drive of valuable information to you twice.”

After a moment of looking over the boy, Yassen believed him. Alex was telling the truth.

Which meant MI6 retrieved the plans the moment they had Alex back.

“I guess they don’t win, you know, if you kill me.” Alex’s cheek implied he knew that was not a possibility.

Yassen had lost the plans.

It was time to bargain, then. He might not be able to completely salvage the situation, but at least he could get something in return for handing over the boy to MI6.

What did Yassen want that he could ask for in exchange?

\---

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Alex complained. Across from him, Mrs. Jones sat behind her desk.

“A handler isn’t a babysitter,” she said. “They’re support, and you could use one.”

The sheer absurdity of the situation almost made him laugh. “You know you don’t have to follow through on this deal, right?” Alex asked. “No one expects you to listen to the advice of rogue assassins.”

“He was probably right in requesting supervision for you,” Mrs. Jones admitted.

This was all Yassen’s fault. Alex had been fine without someone putting a leash on him. He’d finally worked out a contract that he liked with MI6. Jack was even, somehow, putting up with his continued employment with the agency.

“Your handler is genuinely nice, Alex,” Mrs. Jones assured him.

“Fine.” It wasn’t as if he’d thought Mrs. Jones would listen to his objections anyway. And some part of Alex even hoped that a handler would finally be helpful in arranging for impromptu hospital visits. “When does he start?”

Part III

All of four months had passed since Yassen had saved Alex from near certain death in Turkey, so at first Yassen wasn’t willing to believe that the tall, blond haired teenager across the room was Alex. And then the boy shifted, and Yassen, internally, grimaced.

British summer holidays were happening now, he realized. Alex wouldn’t even be missing school on whatever mission MI6 had sent the boy on this time.

Yassen had the feeling that whatever mission involved Alex being at the elaborate birthday party of a multi-millionaire in Venezuela would somehow have the impact of affecting his own goal in the country.

They didn’t run into each other for a while. Yassen stayed close to his employer while the man made his rounds, greeting everyone he knew and introducing himself to those he didn’t. Alex, in contrast, was sequestered in a corner with a gaggle of seemingly mostly bored teenagers.

Only after the attention of the whole room had been gathered for a large round of a Happy Birthday sung in Spanish - despite most of the room being American businessmen - and the dessert table was opened did the chance for them to meet occur.

Yassen ignored the cake offered to him by a waitress. He’d never enjoyed sweets after another, much earlier, life where there had been too many desserts to taste. And he was aware enough that a birthday party such as this was a high-profile target. Poison wasn’t common, but it occurred.

The gaggle of teenagers who’d previously been sulking on the wall was now laughing merrily, jabbering away in the mixture of Spanish and English that came from children who had lived in multiple countries. And they were on the other end of the long dessert table, grabbing plates of cake for themselves and younger siblings.

“You should try some,” Alex said, after he caught Yassen’s eye. The boy took another bite of his slice. “It’s really good.”

“Have we met?” Yassen asked, because he supposed he ought to give Alex at least the chance to stay undercover and out of trouble. Failing that, at least Yassen could avoid the guilt of knowing that he had committed Alex to years of confinement in a Venezuelan prison – if the boy blew his cover and was outed as a foreign spy, it was his own fault.

“Nope. I’m Alex,” Alex said, reaching out to shake Yassen’s hand with his right hand while balancing a plate of cake on the other.

Did MI6 bother to try to disguise Alex? “Nice to meet you,” Yassen responded.

“Don’t you have a name?”

“Not one you need to know.”

The boy shrugged, the gesture made awkward as he shifted to avoid bumping into the crowd of people around them. “You never know what information will be useful. Maybe I could use your name at some point.”

“If we’ve reached that point, you should stick to remembering your own.” Yes, his warning could have been more subtle, but Yassen suspected no one around would understand.

Alex’s gaze shifted to Yassen’s employer, and the two guards staying next to him. “Hi!” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Alex.”

Yassen’s employer was not a kind man, but he was a politician who wanted to avoid public scandal or offending the sons of the businessmen who supported him. Rojas shook Alex’s hand and introduced himself.

“Who are you here with?” Rojas asked.

“Oh, no one,” Alex said. “I’m a friend of the family.”

“Sanchez’s family?”

Sanchez, the man who owned the residence and the grandfather of the two-year-old who’s birthday was being celebrated, had a vast family. At least three of his grandchildren could plausibly be in Alex’s age range.

Sanchez was also the man who Yassen’s boss was here to negotiate with. By the time they left this party, Rojas was going to be significantly richer, and Sanchez would possess a bundle of papers that he could use as blackmail over his enemies. Many of Sanchez’s enemies lived in the United Kingdom. Reluctantly, Yassen accepted that Alex and himself were again at odds on a mission. No doubt Alex was here to try and retrieve the papers that could harm powerful British citizens, even if he didn’t know that was his purpose. And Yassen was here to hand those papers off.

Turning Alex over to the authorities was the immediate solution, but Yassen had already dismissed it as not a choice. His identity revealed, Alex would be hauled to prison. Venezuelan prison was not a pleasant place.

Annoyed, Yassen decided to play it by ear.

“Yeah,” Alex said right before taking another bite of cake.

“You know his eldest grand-daughter?” Rojas guessed.

“Yeah. Catrina. We’re good friends.”

Alex wouldn’t have been here long enough to be good friends with any of the other teenagers, but he may have been here long enough to have truly received an invitation.

Rojas smiled. “She’s a beautiful young woman.”

“She’s great at school,” Alex rebutted. “I wouldn’t want to be on her wrong side once she’s a lawyer.”

“I’m sure.” His employer looked up and caught the eye of a man he knew across the room. “It was nice to meet you.” Then he wandered off, his bodyguards trailing surreptitiously behind.

It was time to pull Alex aside to talk. They were crowded in here, with people moving and shuffling around the table to grab cake and engage in conversation. “Have you seen the paintings in the hall?” Yassen asked

“I’m not much into art history,” Alex rebuffed. “I’d rather watch a movie. Something exciting.”

“Oh yes? Are you into James Bond movies?”

“Not really. He’s always so cliché. And if I watched too many of his movies, it would make the real villain lairs seem boring in comparison.”

“Probably,” Yassen agreed. “Walk with me a minute. I’m sure you will find some of the art exciting enough. There’s one I have in mind where a young man is executed after being caught spying in the Spanish Civil War.”

Alex frowned. “Sounds a bit ghastly to me.” Nevertheless, he followed Yassen to the corridor that led to the garden, throwing what was left of his cake away on the way there. The corridor was filled with paintings and Yassen stopped in front of one, randomly. The boy didn’t even pretend to the look at the art. “You could have just said, ‘try looking at the nice art with me,’” Alex offered.

“My words worked well enough.” The boy was out here after all. “What are you doing here this time, and why do you keep getting in my way?”

Alex hummed a short note before admitting the truth. “They knew you were here. My handler said I’d be the best person to handle you.”

“That’s a pity.”

“For you?” Alex asked, sounding hopeful. “Because you’re going to go away now that I’m here?”

“It’s a pity that they gave you an idiot for a handler.”

Two children ran by, clearly playing tag, before an adult grabbed one and admonished them both. Yassen watched the scene. Alex looked over, as well.

“He’s nice enough, my handler,” Alex defended.

“Apparently. It was nice of him to volunteer you for this, knowing that I’ve helped you before. I will note, however, that I have never had reservations about hurting you. I will repeat, nicely: why are you here?”

Alex stayed obstinately quiet about his mission objective. As a child’s wail filled the hall, he took a step back. “Nice to catch up. I always appreciate the threats. They really suit you. But I have stuff to do, so I’ll see you around.”

Yassen allowed the boy to walk away, neatly swerving around a waiter and avoiding the now squabbling children as he ducked back into the main room.

Back inside the hall, Yassen kept an eye on the boy until it was time for his employer’s meeting to take place. Then he went to the car and retrieved the briefcase with the papers from the armed man waiting there. Briefcase in hand, Yassen went to meet Rojas and his guard in the man’s private office.

Sanchez didn’t bother with guards inside his office. This was his estate, and he knew that if anything happened to him, his death would be avenged swiftly.

Yassen was just about to close the door to the office so no small child wandered inside by mistake when a man pushing a caterer’s cart came to the door. The cart had an expensive bottle of wine in an elaborately carved wine casket on it. “Pardon, sir,” the man said in English. “This was a gift to your granddaughter, but it’s quite expensive. I thought I would leave it out of sight in here.”

Sanchez waved the caterer in; his office was certainly spacious enough for the large cart. The man left the cart along the wall and left.

The deal was agreed quickly enough; it had been largely pre-arranged, after all. Soon Sanchez was holding he briefcase with the receipts that he needed safely inside, and Rojas held a bag of cash.

“If I am double crossed with fake papers,” Sanchez warned, “I will send my men after you, Rojas, and all of your men as well.”

Rojas promised, “There will be no problems. My man can stay with you for a moment while you check the papers, if you want.”

“No. That’s not necessary. I know where to find you.”

Sanchez dismissed them, and Rojas led his men out of the room.

Yassen hesitated as the men began to cross the hall and head for the exit. “Go ahead,” he told Rojas and his personal bodyguards. Then he doubled back into Sanchez’s office.

He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly what – or who – he would find inside. After all, how convenient of the food cart, with room for a teenager to fit underneath the tablecloth while crouching on the bottom shelf, to have needed to be pushed into the room right in before their meeting.

There were no surprises inside the office. Alex, a gun in his hand, was standing in the middle of the room. Exactly where Yassen had hoped the boy wouldn’t be.

“Alex,” Yassen warned, after he had raised his own weapon. “Put it down.”

Alex whirled around. “You were supposed to be gone,” he accused.

“What is this?” Sanchez asked. ”You both know each other?”

Sarcastically, Alex retorted, “Yeah, we’re best friends. It’s why he’s pointing a gun at me.”

“It won’t be a problem,” Yassen said. “The child is making a mistake. I will deal with it.”

“You won’t,” Alex said, before Yassen crossed the room and pressed his own gun to boy’s temple. The boy’s brown eyes jumped up. Sounding increasingly less confident, he repeated, “You wouldn’t.”

“No,” Yassen agreed. “But you wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, either.” Then he reached for Alex’s right arm and yanked it to so the gun was pointed at the ground.

Alex, glowering, dropped his gun. Sanchez dropped the briefcase he’d been holding and lunged to the ground to grab it.

“I’ll take him and make sure he’s not a problem anymore.”

“Yes,” Sanchez demanded. “The boy was pretending to be friends with my Catrina! Make sure he doesn’t have the chance to come close to her again.”

The boy would never have been a threat to Sanchez’s granddaughter. He wouldn’t even have posed a real threat to Sanchez himself, although the man didn’t know it. Still, Yassen promised, looking at Alex’s paling face as he did so, that he would hurt the child bad enough to send a message to whoever had sent him.

The party was still in full swing as Yassen, hand firm on Alex’s arm, marched him out of the party and to his car.

Alex slammed the passenger door when he got into the car.

“Let me guess,” he said with a glare. “You want my handler.”

“Or I can do what I said inside.”

Under his breath, Alex muttered an address from a nice neighborhood.

The address belonged to an international coffee chain. Yassen got himself a coffee and Alex a tea, and sat them both on the second floor.

When Alex finally said, “That’s him,” and made to stand, Yassen pushed the boy back into his seat.

“Stay here.”

Yassen recognized the handler. And from the handler’s shrewd eyes, the man recognized him.

“Take a seat,” Yassen said when the man reached them. It wasn’t a kind invitation.

The man sat. “I know who you are.”

“And I you. You were the caterer.”

“Yes.”

“You left him in a room with many armed individuals, all of whom would kill him without a second thought.”

“Well,” Alex said, with an odd look. “Maybe not _all_ of them.”

It was amazing what selective hearing could accomplish. Judging from the handler’s calm stare, he hadn’t heard Yassen’s accusation.

Yassen decided he hadn’t heard the boy’s statement either. Instead, he said, “If you put Alex in a situation where he could lose his life and he does, or is injured in any serious way, you will answer to me.”

“That’s not fair,” Alex protested.

“You are not his handler,” Alex’s handler said, separating each word with a measured pause, as to emphasize the point.

Wasn’t he? At this point, it was difficult to tell.

“I’m the man who asked for Alex to have a handler. Meaning that if his handler fails to protect him, I will take it personally.”

“You aren’t going to kill me.” Alex’s handler smiled. “I protect Alex. From what I hear, so do you.”

“I repeat,” Yassen said softly, “If you _fail to protect_ the boy, you will have no further use to me.”

The man considered his words, and then nodded. “Ok.”

“Accidents happen,” Alex protested. “This isn’t right.” A nearby table glanced over, and Alex lowered his voice. “You don’t get to say you’re going to hurt someone because _I_ made a mistake and got hurt.”

“Maybe if I do, you will be less likely to make mistakes.”

_“That’s not fair.”_

Bemused, Yassen shook his head. Many things weren’t fair. It was easy sometimes to forget how young Alex was, but the boy’s protests were enough of a reminder that despite all he had seen, the young spy still saw the world as predominantly black and white.

“You’ll get used to it.” Yassen looked back at the handler. “I’m giving you my number. If he gets into trouble and you can’t help him in time, perhaps if you call me with enough time to do something about it, I will spare you.” Then Yassen let his tone freeze. “A final warning. Do not send him after me again. I’m not his babysitter, but more than that, I am not going to be his executioner.”

“Agreed.”

Alex’s handler extended his hand for a handshake. Yassen raised an eyebrow.

The teenager slouched down in his chair, an annoyed expression on his face.

The handler dropped his hand.

“You wanted to give me your phone number?”

“I’ll call the bank, and leave it in a message for Alex.” Yassen stood. He cast a final look at Alex. “Don’t forget. The next time you’re offered a fun adventure, remember this man sent you into a lion’s den. And I know his face.”

“Yeah, you’re a terrifying and overinvolved babysitter who will shoot whoever hurts me,” Alex said. “I get it. Now I’ve got two people telling me to wipe my shoes on the mat and not blow everything up.”

“Good.” Yassen smiled. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

He left Alex with his handler, confident that his last words were correct.


	2. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts IV-VI were going to be together in a part two, but part IV demanded a chapter of its own. Thanks to Lil Lupin for the most brilliant line of this part. Enjoy.

His personal phone rang, and Yassen frowned. Very few people had this number. For any of them to call him meant something had gone wrong. Worse than wrong, to call him specifically.

He put his phone to his ear to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey,” a shaky voice greeted him. “Hi, um. Tom? You know how you said it was a bad idea to break into the factory by the hotel?”

Yassen froze.

Alex.

Questions sprung to mind - far too many to ask, and from the call already it was apparent that someone was listening in, and Alex wouldn’t be able to answer. But they were present in his mind. Who was Tom? Where was Alex? Where was Alex’s handler, and if Alex was in danger, why was he calling Yassen, who could be halfway across the world from the teenager?

Carefully, Yassen spoke into the phone. “What happened? Which factory?”

“I-,” Alex said, then his voice broke. There was something off about his tone, something familiar, although Yassen couldn’t place what he was hearing. “I’m nearby. The clothing factory near the hotel. I really shouldn’t have broken in, and they’re going to come back in here soon, and someone else is listening in. They’ll know I called you.”

“Which hotel, Alex?” Yassen didn’t disguise his impatience. There were millions of hotels in the world, and Alex could be anywhere - in Sydney, in London, or here in Bhutan. Yassen couldn’t help if he didn’t know where Alex was.

“Our hotel,” Alex responded, equal amounts of annoyed impatience in his voice. “We’re both staying there! The one with the leaves on the sign!”

There were leaves on the sign at the hotel Yassen was staying at, at the hotel on a hill overlooking a grassy park.

If it were anyone other than Alex, Yassen would hear that someone knew where he was staying and make accommodations to rid himself of the threat. Normally, if it was Alex, he would go out of his way to move hotels, before the teenager became a problem.

This wasn’t normal. Alex had never called him before. He’d never sounded so out of sorts before. Yassen hadn’t even known the boy had his number. He’d sent it to Alex’s handler, but not Alex himself.

“Are you in Thimphu?”

“Yeah. I was at the hotel,” Alex agreed. The boy almost sounded like he was shaking, despite the humid fall air outside. “I-I, I really should have listened when you said this was a bad idea.”

“Alex!” Yassen said, harsher than he remembered having been with the boy. “What happened?”

“I broke in, ‘cause I thought if I got in before you got here then everything’d be alright, and we wouldn’t have to go up against each other, but-but they saw me, and they, _\- I don’t know what was in it_.” Alex was almost whispering now. “I don’t feel good, and this is really bad, and I only have their phone for a bit and then they’ll notice it’s gone.”

“You said you’re in a clothes factory?”

“Yeah, but it’s not, and there are a lot of people here. With a lot of drugs.” Alex sounded young. Scared. His newest words were enough to convince Yassen, as if he hadn’t been convinced before, that he needed to help.

“Cray was insane,” Alex continued. “But even insane clocks are right half a day, right? Drugs can still be bad even if Cray was mad.”

Drugs. What Alex was saying finally connected in his head. Someone had drugged the boy, and left him somewhere, not realizing that even drugged, Alex Rider was a threat.

“Does the factory have a name?”

“I don’t know but there’s someone in here, another guy, he’s really out of it but he’s listening. He needs to mind his own business, but I think he doesn’t speak English, but he’d recognize the name, right? Names are the same in some languages. So I shouldn’t say the name I’m thinking, right? Then he’ll know what I told you?”

“Then how did you get there, from the hotel?”

Stammering over his words, Alex walked him through the route he’d taken. Yassen visualized the path in his head. He knew where to go.

“Hang up the phone, and hide it,” Yassen commanded. “If the man listening to you is on drugs, he may not say anything. Don’t let them walk in on you calling me.”

“Ok,” Alex said. “But you’re coming, right? You’re not just going to get my handler involved.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to Yassen, but now it gave him a reason to pause. It wasn’t Yassen’s job to rescue Alex, but it was the job of Alex’s handler. And if Yassen found Alex’s handler he could take a moment to express his disappointment in the fact that once again, Alex was here, on what was clearly the same mission as Yassen, or at least related to the mission. Drugs, the same city - those two pieces were all he needed to put together the picture.

“Please,” Alex begged on the other end of the call. “I need help _now_ , not in a day. And I don’t want them to know I did this.”

The last point wasn’t Yassen’s concern. If Alex was adult enough to work for MI6 - at 17, the boy was hardly an adult, but that wasn’t the point - if he was enough of one for MI6, then Yassen could treat him as such. Alex would need to answer for his reckless choices some day or another.

“Please,” Alex pleaded again, and Yassen decided that someday would need to be another time.

“I’m coming,” he promised, and hung up.

Yassen retraced Alex’s path from the hotel, ending up on a winding and half empty road lined with businesses on both sides. The factory was obvious enough at a glance, considering it was the only building with darkened windows and a large sign proclaiming, in English as well, that it was a clothing factory.

Yassen walked around the block twice, surveying the factory. No one went inside or out. There were no signs of life at all.

It would be sheer stupidity to walk inside the front doors and ask for Alex. He decided to do the next best thing: he left.

Five hours later, having retrieved the necessary information from a local contact, he returned, and walked in through the front doors.

Inside, a group of three men and one woman talking at the back corner of a large room filled with sewing machines turned to Yassen. One asked Yassen a harsh question in Dzongkha, the national language. Yassen didn’t recognize the question, but he could guess it’s meaning near enough.

In English, he responded, “Jian sent me, after I lost someone who worked for me. Or, more precisely, he ran away. Jian said you had him.”

The woman of the group switched to English as well. “Jian called us an hour ago. You’re his man?”

“Yes.”

It had been an inconvenience to burn through his few local contacts with the lie that he’d had an apprentice run off to try and handle logistics himself in the middle of an operation. And Yassen had needed to be inventive when it came to what he was claiming his operation in town exactly involved. He couldn’t just say he was going to destroy the operation that Jian was bankrolling, or that this operation seemed to include the factory he was interested in. But it had worked. Yassen’s lie had been enough to get a local criminal leader, Jian Yang, who lived in Bhutan while representing the presence of an international crime syndicate, to believe that Alex was Yassen’s problem. (With annoyance, Yassen had realized that Alex was his problem, but not of the sort that he had claimed to Jian).

The woman nodded. “We have the boy. He was sneaking around where he shouldn’t be, and then he stole a phone.”

“I’ll take care of the problem,” Yassen promised, softly. Then he pulled a stack of cash out of his pocket, and crossed the factory floor to hand it to the woman who appeared to be in charge. “For your troubles.”

The woman took the money and counted it. Then, in Dzongkha again, she gave a harsh command to the group of men. Two of them broke off from the group and disappeared through an arch into a back hallway. They were back within three minutes, one man pushing Alex forward while holding a gun to the back of Alex’s head and supporting him with a tight grip the forearm.

Alex’s eyes were glazed, but the boy was aware enough to recognize Yassen. His eyes widened, and he started to say, “You -“, when Yassen stepped forward and slapped him.

Hard.

Face pale, the boy swayed. He might have fallen if not for the hand holding him up.

“You had orders to stay in place,” Yassen snarled. “You are not in charge of my operations, and you had no business being here.”

Alex straightened, his lips pursed together.

Good. Staying quiet was the best thing Alex could do now, before his mouth ran away from them. Before Yassen needed to handle the situation in a much more direct manner.

If Alex interfered with Yassen’s goal in the city more than he already had, there would be trouble.

“Did he damage anything?” Yassen asked the woman.

“No. He had just broken in through a window upstairs when we caught him.”

“All the same. He owes me for his misbehavior, and I will make sure he pays.”

“I-I don’t owe you,” Alex said, drugged.

Yassen slapped him, again. While the boy recovered, he said sharply, “Talk back one more time and you’ll regret it.”

A brief conversation with the woman later, and Yassen was shoving Alex out into the humid air of a city that was colorful and bright when it wasn’t already dark. Alex, shivering slightly, started in the direction of the hotel. Yassen followed.

“Tha-thanks,” Alex said, as he walked, not quite in a straight line, in the direction they needed to be going. “I needed that.”

“Yes,” Yassen said, no less cold than he had been inside the factory. “That was obvious. Would you like to reconsider whether you owe me?”

“I don’t owe you,” Alex insisted, his speech semi-slurred. “You owe me. I told you when I needed help. You’d’ve been really angry if I got killed.”

That last statement, at least, was true.

“Saving you isn’t my job,” Yassen reminded the boy. Especially drugged, there was a possibility Alex had forgotten that fact.

“Mhm, ’s a shame. You’re really good at it.”

Yassen let that statement pass without comment.

The winding road that the factory was off led onto a main road, bustling with cars and lights. Alex began to dodge around the other pedestrians on the sidewalk.

“They found the phone,” Alex offered, leading them both across a crowded street. “I hid it, like you said, but they found it. Only they didn’t hit me, just gave more drugs. ‘S nice of them. Drugs are ‘spensive.”

Yassen grabbed Alex and pulled him back before a car ran him over, and the car honked as it rushed by.

“See, told you! You’re good at this.”

Somehow, they made it back to the hotel they apparently shared, with Alex rambling all the while. It had been almost ten when they’d started the walk back, and it was close to eleven by the time Yassen half-dragged Alex into the hotel lobby.

“Where is he?” Yassen asked impatiently, leading them to the stairs.

“Who?”

“You know who.” There were more than a few pointed questions that needed to be asked of Alex’s handler, starting with why, after explicit directions otherwise, Alex was again in the same city as Yassen. No less important was the question of why Alex had ended up in trouble and called _Yassen,_ all but saying that his handler wouldn’t rescue him immediately in the process?

Alex shook his head. “Nope. Don’t know. Can’t tell. He’s probably asleep.”

The stairs weren’t the place to interrogate Alex. Yassen led them to his room on the top floor, while Alex complained about the number of stairs they had to climb. It didn’t matter if Alex saw where Yassen was staying; he would be gathering his stuff and leaving as soon as Alex was returned to the relative safety of MI6.

Yassen directed Alex onto the small loveseat that sat under the window, once in his room. Alex sat down, eyes half closed.

“Let’s talk,” Yassen suggested, taking the desk chair from across the room and dragging it to face the loveseat.

“Ok,” Alex agreed cheerily. “Let’s talk. ‘Bout what? You giving up evil?” Then he yawned. “Actually, let’s not talk. I wanna go to sleep.”

“Where is your handler? Answer that, and I’ll direct the rest of my questions at him.”

“’Ll stay with you instead. My handler, he’ll be mad, ‘s not a nice guy.”

“I thought you liked him?”

“S’not the same.” Alex blinked, rapidly. “Earth’s shaking,” he muttered. “I’m gonna fall, ‘s gonna be bad.”

“You’re sitting down, and the Earth isn’t shaking.”

“It is.”

“What drugs did they give you?” Yassen asked.

“I dunno, but there was a lot of it.” Panic crossed Alex’s face. “Am I going to die?”

“No,” Yassen dismissed. “You just walked half a city, even if you were stumbling half the time. And you’ve been hurt worse. I’ve _seen_ you hurt worse.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were there,” Alex pointed out. Despite his words slurring, he was almost coherent. “My handler, he wasn’t, and they didn’t even give me one ‘til you asked.”

Asked was putting it politely.

“Why didn’t they care?” Alex asked, plaintively. “I could’ve died a million times, and they just sent me out.”

The question was one Alex should ask more often, in Yassen’s opinion. Although he had enough suspicions as to why MI6 had sent Alex out without a handler or support, and this was not the time to bring them up.

“’S ‘cause I don’t have a fam-amily. No one would, would miss me. No one’d even question the story, ‘cept Jack, and she’s busy, and Tom’s busy, and _I didn’t know_.”

“Didn’t know what?” Yassen asked. He suspected Alex wouldn’t tell him, not normally.

“’S really lonely,” Alex blurted. “Not at home, I’ve got friends, but, you know?”

“You should sleep this off.” It was a suggestion, but firm. “Where’s your room?”

Alex shook his head, frantic. “N-no! I could die. No one’s gonna check on me, not at night, before the mission’s even begun, not when I should be a-asleep.”

“I would like to sleep at some point tonight, too,” Yassen pointed out. Meaning that at some point, watching a drugged teenager would have to stop.

“’Ll be here.” Alex slumped against the firm back of the loveseat. “’Ll be quiet, and you can sleep. Super quiet. Like a spy.”

The logic wasn’t sound. Not that Yassen would expect it to be, right now. “If you’re quiet and I’m asleep, how will I know if you’ve died?”

“’M not gonna die.”

“Then you can go back to your room.”

Alex crossed his arms and shivered. Despite his glazed eyes, he still managed to stare insolently up at Yassen.

“Fine,” Yassen responded, exasperated. “Do you want a blanket while you lie there, not dying?”

“If you’re being nice,” Alex mumbled.

“No,” Yassen said. “I’m not.”

Alex frowned, and Yassen, shaking his head, went to get an extra blanket from the room’s cupboard.

\--

Yassen was awake, dressed and showered, and brainstorming how to complete his operation in the city without detection now that his contacts knew he was here when there was a knock on the door.

On the floor, where Alex had decided to sleep during some time in the night, Alex shifted.

There was another knock.

Yassen reached for his gun, and approached the door. There was no small eyehole to check outside this door, so instead he asked, “Who’s there?”

“I’m looking for Rider,” was the muffled response.

This didn’t sound like Alex’s handler. But there could have been another agent here, as well.

Yassen glanced back to see Alex stretching.

“Is he still there?” the voice continued.

Alex, pulling himself into a seated position, made a face.

The person outside wasn’t a threat then. Yassen opened the door.

A medium-set man with thinning black hair and dark eyes stood outside. His eyes fell beyond Yassen onto the boy sitting on the floor, half covered by blanket.

“Can I come in?” the man asked.

After glancing again at Alex and seeing no new reason for concern, Yassen stepped back. The man strode in, closing the door behind him.

“You disappeared yesterday, so I had to watch the hotel cameras to find you,” the man told Alex. He was frowning. “It’s sheer recklessness to take off without permission.”

“Who are you?” Yassen asked, ignoring the pleasantries.

“A jerk,” he heard Alex mutter behind him.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “I am the man in charge.”

“You’re not the man I need to talk to,” Yassen said. He would reserve his ire for Alex’s handler before all else. Alex’s handler was the one who was directly in charge for the boy’s health.

“He actually is,” Alex said.

Yassen raised an eyebrow. He considered the man. “You’re his new handler.”

“Yes,” the man said distastefully. “And, pretending I haven’t read it in his file, who do you think you are in relation to Agent Rider?”

“I am the person he called to help. Which brings up the question of why he couldn’t call you.”

“I didn’t call him because he wouldn’t help,” Alex said helpfully.

The new handler gave Alex a bland look over. “Insubordinate. Again. I’m noting it in the mission file.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that note will surprise everyone.”

Ignoring Alex, Yassen stared, cold, at the handler. “You sent him after me.”

“I sent him where you were supposed to be doing business that we thought interfered with our own interests, yes. I don’t know what he is to you, aside from what I have read, but from what I can tell, he’s your weakness.”

“Do you call your kids weaknesses?” Alex asked in the background.

“You aren’t his child,” Alex’s handler rebuffed.

No, Alex wasn’t.

“No. If you would like to call him my weakness, though, go ahead. But the problem with weaknesses is that people go out of their way to defend them.” Like wearing googles around eyes during woodworking, there were many ways that people defended their weak spots in times of danger. Yassen was not going to be upset that the man labelled Alex his weak spot; it was probably correct. That didn’t mean Yassen was going to allow Alex to be used as one.

“Are you going to threaten me for his survival? I heard that happened with my predecessor. I am not going to stand here and take threats, unlike him.”

“Yeah, well.” Alex muttered. “Go ahead and stop him.”

The handler spoke, ice in his tone. “Agent Rider, you have my permission to be quiet.”

“Alex, quiet,” Yassen agreed. “The adults are talking.” There was a chance Alex would get in trouble for what Yassen was about to say, but he would prefer to avoid that possibility as much as possible.

Alex stared at him, hard. The rigid set to his jaw said his silence wouldn’t last long.

“Give me twelve hours,” Yassen said. Then he waited for the question.

The handler did not disappoint. “Twelve hours for?”

“For finding your name, and where you live. Whether you have weaknesses yourself. Let mine be hurt, and I will do the same to yours.”

Alex’s eyes widened.

“Threats don’t work on me,” the man replied.

“And I don’t threaten.”

“He’s not going to do that!” Alex blurted. “No one innocent gets hurt.” Yassen was quiet to that, and the boy’s tone hardened. “Yassen!”

“That’s enough,” the handler cut in. “I’m not here for threats. I’m here to interrupt the slumber party. Agent Rider, get up. It’s time to do your job.”

Seemingly with reluctance, Alex got up. The man nodded. “We’re leaving now. Take a shower, and be ready to report in fifteen minutes.” The man snapped his fingers, and then turned to leave.

“Asshole,” Alex said under his breath, glancing at Yassen. Then he trailed out of the room, following his handler.

\--

Alex stared through his binoculars at the factory he’d been captured in yesterday.

He didn’t know what his handler expected him to do. Yassen knew he was here, and that Alex had an interest in the factory that was being used to smuggle weapons and people through Asia. Yassen hadn’t seemed to have a problem walking into the factory to retrieve him yesterday, which meant that Yassen was probably working for the same group that Alex was working to take down.

And Alex really didn’t want to be caught and drugged again.

It hadn’t felt good, not being in control, and his body feeling as if it belonged to someone else. It hadn’t been painful, but it hadn’t felt _good._ It had been as if he’d been overdosed with truth serum and out-of-body syndrome at once. Thankfully, nothing terrible had happened, but Alex was entirely sure that he would not be sitting here, feeling awake and alert and unharmed, if it weren’t for help.

Without Yassen today would have been a lot different.

Sighing, Alex continued to look down at the factory, looking for new entrances or exits where he could sneak in to cause havoc or destroy the factory without injuring any of the people inside. At least, not the other man who had obviously also been a drugged prisoner, who had listened to Alex’s phone call yet said nothing when their captors came back in.

Alex frowned. Was he imagining the picture?

A trail of smoke trickled from out the second-floor factory window, ending in with the blue roof and the sky up above as the smoke climbed higher and higher.

If there was a fire, this was Alex’s opportunity to act.

He put the binoculars back in his backpack and started to run the distance towards the factory until the last 2 blocks, when he resumed walking. He ignored the stares from bystanders as he walked straight towards the building that now had smoke pouring out of it.

Fire sirens in the background were now racing closer.

There weren’t any signs of a fire, other than smoke, but smoke had to be the biggest factor, right?

Alex was grabbing the hem of his shirt after dropping his backpack onto the ground, ready to rip his shirt off and use it as an impromptu mask, when a hand landed on his shoulder.

He spun around, ready to fight whoever was challenging him.

Yassen looked back at him, amusement clear on his face.

“For once, little Alex, I think we have the same objective. At least judging by where you were yesterday.”

“Destroying the smuggling ring?” Alex whispered furiously. “That’s great, but there are people inside! And you set the building on fire!”

“No,” Yassen said, shaking his head. “I set off a series of smoke bombs. They won’t kill anyone, but the smoke will get the fire department involved, and they will evacuate everyone. And then, while the people we are after are coming here to protect this building, I will go to my main targets and destroy everything.”

“Alright,” Alex said, after that information had processed. “Why?”

“You don’t need to know who I work for, or why this operation eliminating certain competition was necessary.”

Ah. So Yassen was working for the bad guys, still, but this time, different bad guys than the ones Alex was taking down.

It could be worse.

Yassen could have killed people, but it didn’t sound as if he were interested in that, at least for now.

After a second of thinking, Alex asked, “Do you need help?”

\--

Yassen paid the taxi driver and got out. From the other side of the cab, Alex emerged, smiling, and trailed Yassen back into the hotel.

“He’s going to be _pissed_ when I say I worked with you,” Alex gloated.

“Your handler?” Yassen asked.

“He hates whenever I work with someone who he didn’t approve. And he definitely didn’t approve you.”

No, it seemed unlikely that the stern man from before would be delighted at the development.

Stopping abruptly in the lobby, Yassen turned to Alex. “How long ago did you get a new handler?”

“A couple of months ago. My older handler didn’t want to be reassigned – he told me he’d like to stay with me, but they did it. Apparently, I was too much of a loose cannon.”

“And your new handler helps with that?”

Alex’s expression said it didn’t, but Yassen supposed, knowing how much chaos Alex could wreak, that MI6 had thought that a new, stricter handler would help. But it hadn’t been a good idea. Sending Alex on missions when he didn’t trust the man who was supposed to save him was not going to help MI6 achieve their goals any more than sending Alex out without any backup whatsoever.

“How long did he wait, the last time you asked for help?” Yassen asked.

Alex shrugged. “I didn’t have a watch.”

“How long do you think it took?”

“A day?” the boy guessed. “He said the situation wasn’t as bad as I thought. I said I shouldn’t need to scale down a cliff using a washing line to escape being ripped apart by wolves.”

This wasn’t acceptable. “How long did you wait with the last handler?”

“Not a day,” Alex said.

Which wasn’t perfect either.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Yassen promised.

Alex glanced around the hotel lobby, then towards the stairs. “Are you going up to your room?”

“No, I’m just dropping you off. My bag’s waiting in a car.”

“Bye for now, then,” Alex said.

“For now,” Yassen echoed, certain the boy would turn up to meddle in his life again. “Don’t put yourself in a situation where you have to call for my help again.”

“Because you’re not my babysitter?” Alex asked, innocently.

“Because I’m going to start charging more than you can afford for each hour you need me to babysit you,” Yassen responded, in his final comment before he walked away.


	3. Parts V and VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to give the strongest of recognitions to Lil Lupin, who not only named this story, but has listened to this story throughout its creation, given me quite a lot of helpful comments, and done me the enormous favor of reading through this final chapter and fixing a million small mistakes. Thank you so much for all your help!

Part V

The outdoor charity gala that Yassen had stolen an invitation to was little more than a cover for the heiress of an elaborate fortune to make herself richer, through both legal and illicit business dealings. The gala was also where Alex would be, under the cover of some rich man’s son, if Yassen’s information was correct.

Frenchmen and women mingled on the elaborately decorated patio, drinks in hand, soaking in the spring sunlight while conversing on topics as varied and dull as every similar function Yassen had ever attended. He also owned a yacht, but unlike the man with dark hair and a mustache that he’d gotten trapped into a conversation with earlier, it was not Yassen’s only topic of conversation.

Alex’s hair had recently been dyed brown, and that fact made him difficult to spot. Yassen finally noticed the newly eighteen-year-old smiling at the heiress who was throwing the function, listening with apparent eagerness to her every word. He was among a small group of people who were likely listening with exactly as much fake enthusiasm as Alex pretended. Yassen stopped just out of earshot and allowed the few whispers of French that he heard over the crowd to provide him the idea of when the flow of conversation was abating.

The moment their talking ceased for a natural pause, Yassen stepped in. “Pardon,” he said in natural French, as he put a calm hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I need to steal this young man for a moment.”

Alex’s smile faltered. He stuttered a polite excuse to the heiress, and Yassen, calmly, led him off the patio and into the grassy lawn beyond.

“She didn’t know you were here!” Alex rushed to say, reverting to English and his own accent as soon as the two were far enough from the party that there was no risk that his cover would be blown.

“Who?” Yassen asked.

“My handler. She didn’t know.”

He knew the handler couldn’t have predicted he would be here. Yassen hadn’t been here, not until Alex was. The young man’s presence was Yassen’s only reason for attending the party, and little could cause him to care less about the heiress who was dabbling in minor fiscal crimes.

Of course, there was no reason for Alex to know that. “I hope for her sake that is true.”

Alex took a step back, away from Yassen. “Stop it,” he snapped, and there was a note of anger in his voice that hadn’t been directed at Yassen in a long while. “I know what happened to my last handler. They didn’t tell me, but I found out. _You don’t get to threaten or hurt every person who helps me._ ”

“Oh? Did I do that?” Yassen asked, mildly.

It wasn’t that he was feigning ignorance; he knew what he had done. There were no feelings of guilt over his crime in him. But he wondered what Alex had heard. The boy’s last handler hadn’t, despite the boy’s claim, been a help, and Yassen had done what he could to ensure that Alex’s next handler would treat him with a modicum of respect. Enough respect to come to his aid when asked, anyway.

“You can’t break into people’s flats and hurt them just because you can!”

Yassen could.

He had.

“I didn’t injure the man badly enough that he couldn’t recover.”

Mouth firmly pressed shut, Alex glared.

Yassen had told the handler not to tell Alex. But he hadn’t truly expected that the secret would last long. People talked, and Alex was curious enough to go in search of answers for why the man handling his operations was suddenly being replaced.

And perhaps it was for the best.

MI6 had grown complacent. Alex had grown complacent. They had thought that because Alex was Yassen’s weakness, in the words of the boy’s former handler, that MI6 agents could walk into his hotel room to retrieve the boy without worry of injury, or that they could send the boy after him on missions and all would be well.

For a time, their complacency had worked.

Complacency often ended poorly, in his experience.

“I did you a favor. You won’t miss him.”

“Just because someone’s an utter ass,” Alex responded, “Doesn’t mean someone gets to break into their flat and torture them into leaving their job.” Alex’s glare seemed to imply that if it were how the world worked, someone would have shown up at Yassen’s door long ago.

“No. However, if someone ignores my warning, and insists on sending you into places where they think that you will oppose me, then I will hurt as many people as needed to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Congratulations,” Alex scoffed. “It worked. You terrified MI6 into giving me a competent handler, and you haven’t had to worry about not killing me on your jobs. Until now, apparently, because we’re both here. What are you going to do now? Track my handler down to cut off a thumb? Eventually, they’re just going to stop giving me handlers because you’ll have scared them all away.”

“They’re not going to stop giving you a handler,” Yassen said, frankly. “You survived long enough to become a competent agent. You’re worth something to them now.”

Alex frowned. “I was always worth something to them,” he tried.

It was a waste of both of their time to argue that point. It was, perhaps, also less kind than Yassen was aiming to be to remind the boy of his own drugged words months ago, when he’d stuttered about MI6 sending him with no remorse on mission after mission where the possibility of Alex’s death was higher than it would have been for adult agents with handlers.

“Perhaps your youth was valuable. You acted well enough, for a child. You had more luck than most.”

“I was skilled enough to survive!”

“You had help, on occasion.”

Help that showed up, with luck, in the nick of time to save Alex from the many fates that others had intended for him. But not, the problem was, help from MI6.

“I still have help. Does that make me terrible at this?” Alex protested.

“I never called you terrible. But relying on mercy from those that walked by you tied up to a pipe while bleeding and getting to call for help from your agency are not the same thing. A handler is not the same thing as backup field agents. And a handler that wants to send you after me will prove almost worse to your health than no handler at all. MI6 knew this, and sent you into the field anyway.” Yassen paused, searching Alex’s face for understanding.

Alex remained guarded.

“You were skilled,” Yassen iterated. “But they did not find that valuable enough to invest in. Not until I stepped in. And then they decided you were worth a handler, but not one that trusted you. I stepped in again. Now they want you to have a handler and stay alive, and they know that if they give you a man who fails you, they will be down not only an agent but a handler.”

“My handler’s a woman.”

Yassen gave him a flat look. Man, woman, it made no difference. If Alex died, Yassen would know who to hold ultimately and personally responsible.

“Worth a shot,” Alex muttered. He was still frowning. “I like her. She listens to me when I say I need help.”

“Good. I’m glad.” It had been Yassen’s intention to get MI6 to finally give Alex the person he needed to keep him safe when Yassen had shown up at the previous handler’s door. He hadn’t stayed long. He’d left before ten minutes were up, in fact. He knew the man had cameras, and that the handler might have called for help the moment Yassen appeared outside his door.

Looking in the direction of Yassen, while the brilliant sun shone in his face, Alex squinted. “And now my handler has to know you’re around and ready to threaten her. It’s not fair. How would you like it if I threatened you?”

Yassen crossed his arms, waiting, as he was sure his expression showed, with skeptical attention.

Alex tried a threat. “Hurt my handler and I’ll do something you’ll regret.”

“And are you going to hurt yourself on purpose, or will it be a careless mistake?”

A scowl tugged at Alex’s lips. “I’m not going to hurt myself. You care about people and things besides me.”

Yassen waited.

“Probably,” Alex amended.

“I’m sure,” Yassen said. And he was sure. What he was less sure of was that _Alex_ knew quite enough to figure out what to threaten him with. “Name them.”

“You like yourself, I assume. I’ll threaten you.”

“Have you decided that it’s alright to hurt others?” Yassen asked, knowing Alex hadn’t.

Alex took a deep breath in, and then, slowly, let it out. In the background, people milled on the patio and the lawn, no one glancing in their direction. Alex looked between the party and Yassen. “Why are we in the corner of the lawn, if you’re not going to actually threaten me this time? I told you I didn’t know you were here. My handler doesn’t want me to interfere with your work. She got your message: keep us apart.”

“I’m not here on a current job,” Yassen said, serious now. “I’m here because of the job I will be starting soon.”

“And?” Alex demanded. “What does that have to do with me? I don’t know anything about what you’re doing next.”

“If you find out what I am working on next, you will avoid it. In fact, you will avoid the entire nation of Belarus for the next few months, if you wish to avoid trouble.”

“Believe me, I will. I’ll tell my handler you tracked me here and told me that, and I won’t be anywhere close to Eastern Europe for months afterwards.”

Yassen affixed the boy with a stare. Perhaps he had not understood.

“You will be somewhere else, a week from now,” Yassen said again.

“Ok,” Alex emphasized. “I’ll avoid it. There’s a note in my file that goes something like this: dangerous lunatic will kill handler if Alex gets anywhere near said dangerous lunatic on a job. Since I like my handler, I’ll listen to you.”

“Alex. Listen to me. I came here to tell you that if MI6 interferes in this, my employer will be unhappy.”

Alex scowled, no doubt impatient that he was being treated like a toddler.

Impatient for his own reason, Yassen said, “And if MI6 does not interfere, a lot of people will be hurt.”

A lot of people that, in Yassen’s own opinion, did not need to be hurt to achieve the objective his boss was after. Although perhaps this was only his older age making him soft.

“Yeah, that will make me avoid the situation. You definitely needed to track me down to tell me that,” Alex replied, sarcasm clear on his voice.

“Good. Then you will be out of trouble, and I will have no problems.”

Alex’s brow wrinkled. Then, much later than Yassen would have preferred, the boy understood. “Oh.”

Finally.

A cloud moved over the sun. Alex looked out into the distance for a moment, before returning his gaze to Yassen. “I guess I’ll see you in Belarus in a week?”

“As long as you understand that I warned you against it. And warned you not to look into the name Ivan Antonovic.”

And he had, in the conversation, warned Alex against being in Belarus soon. Repeatedly and often. If Alex was caught and questioned as to how he had heard that anything was happening in the country, he could say the truth: Yassen had tracked him down and warned him to avoid a place, on threat of losing his handler’s life.

If MI6 couldn’t use the clues that Yassen had given Alex in this conversation to figure out what they needed to stop, that was their own problem. Yassen would feel no guilt about the ensuing devastation in the country. He would have done his job and been paid well, while also, supposedly, warning the one person he would have wanted to avoid the fallout to stay away.

The reality was that he was older, closer to retirement, and the half he had been paid up front would suffice him well enough if his job were to be suddenly eliminated by an agency such as MI6 putting a rather permanent end to his employer’s plan. And if anyone that Yassen knew could stop the oligarch that threatened to destroy Belarus, it would be Alex.

“Don’t look up the name Ivan Antonovic. Got it. Can I go back to the party now?” Alex asked. When Yassen moved aside to let the boy pass, Alex started across the lawn back to the stairs. Then, stopping in his path, he turned, and gave a mocking salute across the lawn.

Until next time.

Shaking his head, Yassen headed around the porch, and to his rental car. He would need to savor the quiet of the next week before Alex could burst onto the scene with a figurative – or perhaps literal – explosion.

\--

At the beginning of March, a man had approached Yassen with an offer of employment. The Russian oligarch Ivan Antonovic was rich. Supremely rich, not well adjusted, and desiring of even more wealth. He also owned quite a large oil company, and was disappointed in the increasing reliance many Eastern European nations had for nuclear energy.

In a day, Antonovic was going to act on his plan to bring several nations back to a point where they relied on oil from his company. In a week, he would detonate a bomb that would blow a hole into a nuclear reactor, causing a meltdown that would rival Chernobyl with its disastrous potential.

Yassen knew this would happen because he had rigged the explosive himself, after the scientists who ran the faculty had mostly signed off for the night.

He had accepted Antonovic’s employment opportunity, of course, because it paid well, with half of the price up front. He would be a fool to turn it down. Especially when he had no desire to see Belarus’s smallest city turned into a pile of radiation, when nuclear fallout over Eastern Europe might interfere with future employment opportunities within the European criminal world for the next few years, and when no other person who took this task was likely to give Alex Rider the heads up of what was about to occur.

Yassen had given the warning. If MI6 couldn’t figure out the plan, they wouldn’t know where to send Alex, and Alex would be safely out of harm’s way. If they did figure out the plan, then Yassen would have no reason to worry that his future jobs in Eastern Europe would involve a ridiculous amount of scrutiny from the intelligence world.

It was out of Yassen’s hands now.

\--

Alex ran through the grey concrete hallways, fully aware that a cadre of guards was somewhere behind him.

He was trapped, almost. If he remembered the plans of the building, and where guards were stationed, anyway.

He had succeeded in disarming the explosive that had been hidden in a side chamber, almost ready to blow a hole into the reactor chamber that would cause a meltdown. So that mission was achieved. Now if Alex could only avoid being caught and hauled before the rich oligarch MI6 was convinced was behind this, he wouldn’t let down his handler, or Yassen.

His handler had warned him this was a bad idea. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with this, from the moment Alex had mentioned Yassen’s name

He hated asking for help.

His handler would still handle it.

He ducked into a small room, aware of the camera’s watching him all the while, reached for his phone, and made a call.

\--

Yassen reviewed the security footage remotely, while frowning. Something had gone wrong. He was in the neighboring city from the nuclear reactor, and supposedly, in 15 hours, there would be a meltdown due to the explosive planted. But the explosive was no longer registering.

Yassen had ensured he did not look relieved when the news was reported to him.

His relief that Antonovic’s plan wouldn’t work was real, but now he had to figure out what had happened to Alex. If the boy had prevented a city from dying only at the cost of his own life, Yassen would never forgive MI6. The boy was supposed to have a handler to protect him now.

The cameras showed Alex running down a hall, guards following a moment later, almost as soon as Alex disappeared around a corner. The guards clearly suspected someone was in front of them, but the cameras at the reactor weren’t actively monitored unless suspicious activity had been reported, and the guards looked as if they had not had time to report suspicious activity.

In a small room nearby, the recording from the cameras showed Alex making a quick call.

And then, in the first footage again, the guards stopped, and held their walkies to their head. They listened intently, and then, without pausing to talk, two of the three guards that were following Alex turned and headed – quickly - back in the direction they had come from.

Yassen knew why they left. Another camera, stationed far outside the faculty’s walls, showed the explosion that shredded the hedges and singed the outer wall of the faculty moments before the guards were called.

The problem lay in the fact that the explosion that occurred outside did not seem Alex’s style. Outside the faculty was a public park, and anyone could have been walking by. Anyone could have been injured in the devastation of the bomb. As it happened, no one was walking by, and there were no injuries. And, of course, as the bomb was outside the reactor’s faculty and wouldn’t cause any problems by itself.

Still. The potential for civilian damage ruled out Alex as the culprit.

That left one choice. Someone else was responsible for the small explosion that called most of the faculty’s guards off Alex, and allowed him to escape with no one dead, and only one guard knocked out.

He reviewed the footage again.

His second time viewing it, he saw what he should have noticed before.

A woman, perhaps in her late forties to early fifties, with greying hair and a stern face, was knitting on a park bench next to some pigeons. The woman could hardly have appeared more a harmless cliché if she’d tried. Which meant perhaps she was trying hard to appear exactly as she did.

The woman received a call when the time in the corner of the security footage read 15:32, the same time as Alex had made his call for help. The woman took the call, was on it for the same amount of time as Alex was on his phone, and then put the small flip-phone away. She, casually, glanced towards the hedge bordering the facility. Nothing and no one besides a few birds pecking at the ground stood in the space. And then the woman poked the tip of one of her knitting needles.

Smoke from the sudden explosion obscured the camera’s view for the next few minutes. By the time the smoke had cleared, everyone in the park had either run far away, or was one of the few guards, guns drawn, who were standing near the site of the explosion, looking around for potential culprits.

The stern woman was already gone.

In the footage inside the building, Alex knocked out the one guard he found himself up against, and worked a path to the outside.

Alex had needed help. Distraction was a form of help. He had called and requested a distraction, and his handler had taken care of the situation.

Yassen would, reluctantly, admit to being impressed. For once Alex was telling the truth. His handler was competent, and helped when asked.

\--

Yassen walked through the small airport, on the lookout for the boy that he knew should be leaving the country at around the same time as himself. It was of course possible that Yassen had already missed him, but luck, as it happened, was on Yassen’s side that day.

Alex was sitting at the barstool off the counter off the small bar counter next to the gate with the only flight leaving soon to London, and next to him was the stern woman who could have been a strict schoolteacher. An empty wine glass sat on the counter in front of her, and her suitcase and Alex’s sat on the floor beneath them.

Neither the boy nor his handler observed Yassen walking up, although they both looked over when Yassen took the open bar stool next to the handler.

Yassen ignored them long enough to order a glass of a weaker wine himself. In the corner of his view, he saw the handler stiffen, and her gaze grow wary.

Alex’s eyes were suspicious when Yassen turned to look at the two.

Normally, an agent wouldn’t travel with his handler. Here, there was less reason for suspicion. Alex could be the woman’s son; to anyone else that saw them together, there would be no reason to suspect why they had been in the country.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Yassen told the handler.

“I can’t say the same.”

Yassen shrugged. It was no matter what the handler thought of meeting him. “I thought your bosses would be interested to know that my former boss will no longer be a problem.”

The oligarch had been disappointed when Yassen delivered the news that the meltdown at the reactor had been delayed. Not disappointed enough to kill Yassen for delivering the news, but annoyed enough that the thought might have crossed his mind. And attached enough to his objective of half destroying a nation just for a greater source of income that he might have tried again.

It was never ideal to be responsible for a failed operation, but Yassen had been paid half up front, and sometimes – although rarely - the payout was not worth the cost.

The oligarch would now no longer be a threat to anyone.

‘And you did well,” Yassen said. “Both of you.”

The handler leaned close, and said in a hush, “You accepted a job that could have killed millions if we failed. _You_ did not do well.”

Millions was perhaps an exaggeration. And blaming Yassen for what might have happened seemed to Yassen a particularly ungrateful way to thank him for allowing MI6 the intelligence they needed to intercede in the situation.

“Yes,” Yassen responded.

It would be best if MI6 continued to think the worst of him. Then they would be even more hesitant to send their agents after him without reason.

“You saved a lot of people,” Alex said, ignoring his handler’s accusation.

It was better if Alex thought Yassen cold-hearted, so the boy continued to stay away from him. Yassen should make sure Alex knew he would happily kill millions more for a paycheck.

Yassen shrugged.

“You’re getting soft,” Alex accused.

“I gave you warning of a situation that might have killed you. Soft is not how I would describe myself.”

“Sure, you wouldn’t,” Alex dismissed. “I’ll describe you that way then. It’ll be a note in your file.”

Alex’s handler interrupted before Yassen could respond. “It’s not soft to put him in danger. You could have told someone else about this problem.” She looked around at the crowd, then disguised her meaning behind her words. “Why my charge?”

Yassen took her meaning well enough. Why tell Alex, as opposed to any other agent at any intelligence agency in the world?

“He was the one I trusted to deal with the situation. He’s capable, and insists on putting himself in danger anyway. It might as well serve my purposes.”

And, of course, there was the fact that Alex would believe him when he said a situation needed attention.

“It’s how I was raised,” Alex said dryly. “My uncle would be proud.” Then he raised an eyebrow at Yassen, as if to suggest there were still parts of their relationship he hadn’t forgotten.

“Your father wouldn’t,” Yassen replied, annoyed. “And as usual, I’ll remind you that you’re free to quit at any point. I will help you if they cause trouble when you resign.” He expected the handler to tell him it was time for him to leave. Alex, after all, was an asset MI6 would do anything to keep.

The stern woman was quiet, simply watching him, observing.

“I don’t want to quit,” Alex refuted.

“You could continue after university,” Yassen said, hoping by then Alex would have lost the thrill for danger that he seemed to need.

“I don’t need to go to university.”

“Yes, you do,” the handler scolded. “Your applications have already been sent in, and you’re going.”

“Yeah, sure,” Alex muttered.

“Make sure he goes,” Yassen told the woman. “He’ll be a better asset if he’s educated.”

“Is this a conspiracy?” Alex glanced between the two of them, finally landing back on Yassen. “Are you two working together?” He stared at Yassen. “You know you don’t like my employers, right? And if you threaten her, I’ll threaten you.”

“I’ll extend my invitation for you to try.”

“He’s going to university,” the handler said to Yassen, ignoring the talk of threats. “I’ve walked him through the applications already. I’ll drive him to classes myself if I need to.”

Alex scowled. “I already agreed. You don’t have to drag me. And, just to be clear, I liked it better when my personal manager and my babysitter didn’t get along.”

Yassen noticed the handler’s lip quirk.

Overhead, an announcement blared that a flight to London was beginning to board.

“Oh no. Guess we’re out of time for threats, because that’s us,” Alex pointed out.

Yassen had suspected as much. He also suspected that he wouldn’t need threats, even if the flight preparing to board passengers belonged to another set of people.

“It was certainly _interesting_ to meet you,” the handler said, standing. “I’ve heard more about you than you may suspect. Putting a face to the name that isn’t an out-of-date photograph is helpful. And for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have wanted the last one in charge of Alex, either.”

“He was an ass,” Alex said, bobbing his head. Then he fixed a petulant glower at Yassen. “Still didn’t deserve it, though.”

“Quite.” The handler picked up the handle to her suitcase, and with her free hand brushed a loose strand of hair off Alex’s shoulder. “Come along, dear. We have a flight to catch.”

“Sure, _mum_.” The boy made a face before he stood and grabbed his bag as well.

“Keep him safe,” Yassen said, addressing Alex’s handler. It wasn’t – not fully - a warning.

“Yes, that is my job.” She said, curt. The handler looked him over, one final time. “And don’t get him into any more trouble. One time pitting him against you was enough for me. You were quite competent at setting up the security of that operation, and I don’t mean it as a compliment.”

Her tone left no room to doubt that.

“Ok, stop arguing. The divorce terms are finalized,” Alex said. “Mum here got custody, and we’re going to go now. Call me if you need something blown up.”

“Call _me_ , so that I can reject any more ridiculous jobs,” the handler corrected.

Yassen nodded. He watched the two as they left the small bar and joined a long line of passengers preparing to embark the flight home. Neither looked back at him, just as neither made a move to call airport security.

Perhaps, Yassen ruefully admitted to himself, Alex didn’t need the babysitter anymore. His handler was competent, and Alex was growing older. He was far from the half-trained and manipulated child he had been when Yassen had first met him on a rooftop in London, years ago.

Perhaps, though, Yassen would wait a few months to see how things went before he stopped informally checking in on the not quite child. It wasn’t his worst-case scenario to be the one called when Alex needed help.

Part VI

Yassen was sitting in the corner of a crowded café for tourists in Madrid, writing and reflecting on his thoughts, when a shadow fell over his work.

“You’re getting old,” the young man said, sitting down, cup of coffee in hand. “I could have reported you to the police by now.”

“I saw you at the door,” Yassen said. “I could have killed you before you crossed the room.”

“And I thought retirement made people nicer,” Alex scoffed.

“I’m not retired,” Yassen said. Which was, strictly speaking, true. He was on vacation. An extended vacation that he would only end for the right job at the right price, but still not retirement.

“And you’ve never been nice.”

Yassen only looked up at that, and tilted his head.

Alex grimaced. “Ok. Maybe you’ve been nice enough to me, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Why not?” Someone had to help Alex; the young man certainly wasn’t kind enough to himself. Not when he kept allowing MI6 to use him. Although from what Yassen had heard, Alex hadn’t been on any high-risk missions in a while.

“Because you like me,” Alex responded. “Most people are nice to people they like. Being nice means helping even those you don’t, or people you don’t care about.”

“Belarus.”

It was one word, but it had the desired effect.

“Alright, fine. You were helpful to people in Belarus,” Alex conceded. “ _One time_ you weren’t the absolute worst to people who aren’t me. I have a whole list of times you were the worst, though. But I’m not here for a trip down memory lane.”

“Then why track me here?”

“I need help with something, now that my handler’s just retired.”

That was a shame. She had been one of the few people competent enough to keep up with Alex. “I hope she enjoys retirement,” Yassen said, finding himself meaning the words.

“She will. She’s moving with her wife to a small village to be near their daughter’s university. In her words, guiding me through university is probably enough experience to help her daughter out if she needs advice.”

Alex’s handler – or, in this case, former handler – was probably correct. If she could guide a current MI6 agent to pass his classes while he was supposedly saving the world, especially if that agent was Alex, her daughter was unlikely to be a challenge.

Alex took a long sip of his coffee. Yassen waited, patient. Eventually Alex would reach his point.

“I wondered if you wanted a job,” Alex said. “Well, not really a job. But I’m going to work at a private island for a while.”

“As yourself?”

“No.”

A long-term undercover operation on a private island right after Alex’s graduation. Finally, MI6 had a chance to utilize Alex without worrying about getting him back to England in time for classes, and they were sure to make use of him.

Alex continued, “They don’t have a new handler ready to go. The person they wanted for me is unavailable for a few months, and I don’t like their second choice. We worked together once before, and it wasn’t a good time.”

Yassen waited.

“He thought I was an idiot, and I knew he was.” Alex flashed a quick grin. “Anyway, I told my boss not to worry. I figured I had someone in mind who may be able to help me if my bosses continued to be completely incompetent at finding someone to manage me. All my bosses had to do was give me the money to pay the person I had in mind, and not ask questions.”

“And they trusted you with that?”

“No, they said I didn’t get access to the ‘corporate account’ after the last time they gave me a credit card,” Alex dismissed. Then he looked at Yassen and shrugged. “So sorry, the job doesn’t pay.”

“What job?” Yassen asked, not sure he was following. And then he understood. “I’m not a handler, and I don’t work for free.” As well, MI6 was unlikely to cooperate with him, even in the unlikely circumstances that they decided it wasn’t the worst idea they had ever heard.

“Everyone needs a hobby.”

“I have hobbies.”

“Retirees need more hobbies than most people. Being old and out of work is boring.”

“How would you know?” Yassen countered. “You only graduated in May, and you were working the entire time you were in university.”

“Then you did get the invitation to my graduation!”

Yassen didn’t acknowledge that. Yes, he’d gotten the invitation, along with the message scrawled on the back: They know I sent this, so probably best if you don’t show up. Jack wouldn’t know whether to thank you or slap you, anyway.

“I kept expecting you to sneak in disguised as an elderly grandmother,” Alex continued.

“And I expected you’d be dead by now,” Yassen responded, bluntly.

“Me too. But I like being alive, and thought I might want to continue my monthly tradition of not dying in a storm of bullets. So how do you feel about a stipend? It’s basically me paying you to babysit a particularly reckless version of me, but at way less than your usual rate because I’m not a despotic billionaire.”

“No,” Yassen said. Short and to the point. It was best to disappoint Alex before the young man got his hopes up.

“Please? This is going to be a longer job, and I don’t want to be alone with an idiot for backup.”

Yassen shook his head.

“You wouldn’t even have to be on the island. You could stay at the resort island next door. Get some sun, stop being such a pale vampire, and rest and relax. It’s way better than the prison you deserve.”

He shot Alex a look.

“Well, you do,” Alex grumbled. “Again, just because you’re nice to me, doesn’t mean you’re an angel.”

“Do insults usually work better than flattery for you?”

“You already said ‘no’. Now I’m just wasting time until you change your mind. You know you’re going to.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You didn’t spend the past seven years trying to get me competent help just to abandon me now,” Alex said. “Right?”

Yassen looked down at his writing and, internally, sighed. He suspected he wasn’t going to finish writing his thoughts down today. “Tell me about the assignment.”

Alex did. He avoided key words that those passing by could understand, but the gist was clear enough: his mission involved a rich man with too much time on his hand and numerous enemies, befriending the son of said rich man, and probably swimming into a faculty that was partially underwater on the island he would be working undercover as a waiter in. Yassen had heard the name of the rich man, had experience with breaking into secure buildings, and could probably find enough information on the man’s son that he could get Alex to befriend him easily enough.

“I’d pay you a stipend,” Alex offered again when he had finished recounting what he knew. “It wouldn’t be a lot, but you wouldn’t be working for free.”

“You don’t need my help.”

“I might. My bosses told me I could have my first choice for a handler after this job is complete, but I need to work with their second choice until then. Their second choice is an utter imbecile. He won’t be any help at all.”

Unsaid was that the man Alex was going up against had a terrifying hold on his island, and was powerful enough to leave Alex scared that he might not survive without backup. But it was clear enough.

From what Yassen knew of the man, Alex was right to be worried.

“I don’t want your money.”

“Because you’re going to help me out of the goodness of your heart?” Alex suggested slyly.

This time, Yassen sighed out loud.

“It’s basically a vacation. I won’t even ask for your help, or maybe only once,” Alex needled. “No one will know you’re there. You can have tropical drinks all day. With tiki umbrellas in them.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Alex leaned forward. “Really?”

Around them, the bustle of the large café continued. Yassen looked over the crowd, making sure to update his assessment of any risk. The room continued to look calm enough, filled mainly with exhausted families and young couples, and one particularly harried looking South Korean tour group.

The young man sat waiting, his face not yet hopeful.

He must believe that this next mission would be a disaster if he were ready to rely on Yassen’s help.

Although it was true that he hadn’t let Alex die any of the times they’d met in the past eight years. It was also true that it would be a shame to start now.

“Give me a day to get back to you,” Yassen responded, eventually.

“Ok. How?”

“Meet me here, tomorrow at noon. Even if I say no, I’ll buy you a coffee.”

Yassen wasn’t going to say no.

Judging by Alex’s faint smile, the young man knew it, too.

“Alright.” Alex stood, clutching his coffee. “I’ll see you then. And thanks for the help.”

“I haven’t said yes.”

“No, I mean, for all the times before.”

Alex had said thank you in the past, but Yassen didn’t remind him.

The young man left, a small smile on his face. To anyone watching, he could have been any of the tourists crowding the café, enjoying his time in a foreign city. For a second Yassen was tempted to track him down and offer a suggestion on a special exhibit currently at a local museum where Alex could spend his time learning about the innovations in spying during World War II.

Yassen would see him again tomorrow. He would offer that advice then, assuming Alex wouldn’t dismiss it out of hand.

And until then, he had research to do. About this rich man Alex was going to go up against. About the first choice MI6 had in mind to be the young man’s handler after this next mission. And, most importantly, about where Yassen could spend his not-retirement wasting time on nearby islands until the moment that Alex needed him.

It may turn out that Yassen was going to be, for at least this once, Alex’s handler after all.


End file.
